PSALM LXXXVIII.

Wells.

9

To Thee, my God and Hope, I fly,

To Thee address my mournful cry:
Vouchsafe both day and night to hear!
In all my grief bow down thine ear!

Wilt Thou by miracle revive
And cause the dead again to live?
Shall the mute grave thy love confess?
A mould'ring tomb thy faithfulness?

Yes when I'm buried deep in dust,
My perish'd flesh to Thee I'll trust:
These wither'd limbs fhall be thy care,
Thy glorious quick'ning they fhall share.

Thou to my eyes in full furvey

Shall paths of heav'nly life display,
Those paths, which to thy presence bear;
For fulness of thy blifs is there.

Windfor.

PSALM XC.

THOU

HOU turneft man, O Lord, to duft
From which he first was made;

And, when Thou speak'st the word “Return,”
Thy voice must be obey'd.

In youth, we flourish green, like grass
Which feels the morning beams;

In

age, when worn and weak we fall,
We vanish hence, as dreams.

Beneath thy fearful wrath confum'd
Our drooping days we spend;
Our unregarded years break off,
Like tales that quickly end.

Then teach us, Lord, th'uncertain hour

Of our fhort days to fcan!

This truth implant in all our hearts,

"Our life is but a span !"

Innocents.

།

PSALM XCI.

HE, who hath God his Guardian made,

Shall under the Almighty's fhade

Secure and undisturb'd abideThus to my foul of him I'll fay, "He is my fortrefs and my stay,

My God, in whom I will confide.”

His tender love and watchful care

Shall keep me from the dang'rous fnare,

Where foes around their thousands flay:
He over me his wings fhall fpread,
And cover my unguarded head

Against the fhafts that fly by day.`

No harm fhall hence my life befall,
Nor to my healthful dwelling shall
Th'infectious breath of plague draw nigh;
Because with well-plac'd confidence

I make the Lord my fure defence,
And on the highest God rely.

He, who hath God his Guardian made,
Shall under the Almighty's fhade

Secure and undisturb'd abide

Thus to my foul of him I'll fay,
"He is my fortress and my stay,

My God, in whom I will confide.”

PSALM XCII.

Stroudwater.

IT is a joyful thing to praise

And thank our God most high; A joyful thing, to found thy name, O Lord, above the sky;

To fhew forth all thy wond'rous love
Before the morning light,

Or to declare thy grace and truth,
When clouds bring on the night.

To Thee a ten-string'd inftrument
And folemn harp shall found,
And in the well-tun'd pfaltery
Shall thy juft praise be found.

To fing the wonders of thy hand
I raise my foul and voice;
In praising Thee and all thy works
My heart and tongue rejoice.